


We May Be Here For Forever

by haechansheaven



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan is a Single Father, M/M, Na Jaemin-centric, Non-Linear Narrative, Single Parents, Slice of Life, Snapshots, Strangers to Lovers, lovers to strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24951325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haechansheaven/pseuds/haechansheaven
Summary: It's unfair to say that this is about falling in love, even though that is exactly what Jaemin is doing.These are vignettes of falling in love with a person and a town for the second time, all over again.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Na Jaemin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	We May Be Here For Forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [themunchking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themunchking/gifts).



> thank you for waiting so long and being so patient with me as i worked on this through time, other projects, and my injuries ~  
> when you told me, "one of them is new to town," my brain might have warped the prompt a little bit, so i hope that this is to your liking.  
> this is a different style from what i normally write, and part of me wonders if perhaps i should not have tried it for a requesting fic...  
> i hope you enjoy it, regardless. :]

Small towns are listless. This is where the story begins.

There is something to be said for being born, growing, and living your life in the same town your entire life. When Jaemin was younger, he dreamt of escaping this place. Now, at twenty-six, he thinks to himself that there’s nowhere else to go. The world is so, so big, and yet all Jaemin will ever know are these two-lane roads that are empty at 5:05 in the evening and the small village mart to the right of the center of town.

Things change, though never at the speed and never in the way that Jaemin wants them to. It’s just a part of life, though, and in a way, he’s begun to accept these sorts of things. He still has Jeno in his life. And Renjun, and Yangyang. For all the things he’s given up on and lost by staying here, there are plenty of people that have stayed with him through it all.

It’s not that they seek comfort and regularity in their lives, and that’s why they haven’t left. Each one of them have tried, and each one of them have returned, here. Escaping is something of a luck of draw, and each one of them managed to pull a _Return Home_ card. Surrounded by comforts and stagnancy, they’ve begun to grip onto any changes that occur.

A new face, a closing store—anything that provides something _new_.

One day, it comes in the sort of way that Jaemin isn’t sure he ever expected.

“They say that someone’s finally bought Mark’s old place,” Renjun says, bringing his mug up to his lips. Jaemin wrinkles his nose before looking over his shoulder. His words bring Jeno and Yangyang to a silence that borders on uncomfortable.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” There’s a pause, and it holds purpose, and Jaemin decides that whatever Renjun is hiding is going to hurt. “I met them by accident the other day.”

“Well, don’t keep secrets,” Yangyang leans his head on his hand, eyes curling into crescents as he smiles. “What fresh face is coming to this town? The sort of place where dreams come to die.”

Jeno shoves at his shoulder, brows furrowing. “Stop being such a fucking stick in the mud. Who is it, Renjun?”

“Donghyuck Lee.”

Silence is the only thing that comes between them all. Jaemin isn’t sure that he would call Donghyuck a new face. Change, however, is coming to this small town.

* * *

Growing up, summers were boring in that coming-of-age movie sort of way. Sprints down their neighborhood road to the ice cream truck. Renjun would complain about how nothing would look like the pictures on the truck and Jeno would tell him to let it go. Growing up, things were easy.

Small towns are nice in that they wrap you up and suffocate you until you don’t know the difference between life and everything that you’re missing outside of its boundaries. It isn’t the sort of small town with fields. It’s the suburb of a gentrified city that never grew as large as people expected it to. The buildings aren’t large and glittering, but they provide amenities that allowed the children to find a fake sort of freedom.

Jaemin would pick dandelions for his mother to put into salads and Donghyuck would make wishes on dandelion seeds, watching the small, off-white parachutes get caught in a gentle breeze. They would never go far, but there was always something lovely about thinking of distance.

Summers were warm, and they would sit in front of a fan, distorting their voices and pretending to be robots trying to take over the world. They would collect rocks and watch Saturday morning cartoons and Jeno’s father would read the Sunday morning comics to them, acting them out with big, sweeping gestures and giving each character a different voice.

Growing up in a small town was something nice like that.

* * *

Falling in love isn’t a once in a lifetime thing, but Jaemin thinks that it should be in the stupid, hopeless sort of way that leads him to believing that falling in love once and never again would solve all the problems in the world. That’s where the first problem is, perhaps.

At fourteen, Jaemin blinked too quickly and watched a boy fall in front of him. At eighteen, he fell in love. There were no words, no actions, just thoughts. It’s where he failed, probably. At twenty, Jaemin never saw him again. His name was Donghyuck Lee, and Jaemin never really understood where he went. One day he was there, and one day he wasn’t. His parents closed their doors, and their blinds, and, one day, they were gone, too.

In between, there were others. Are others. Jaemin’s fault is something like this: He falls in love quickly, easily, and then never stops. It’s a protective mechanism, probably, in that he never has to nurse a broken heart. Until he runs out of love to give, he will hold onto everything—everyone—that he can remember.

Letting go is something that Jaemin must learn. It’s a difficult request when nothing around you has changed drastically for twenty-six years.

* * *

Donghyuck Lee is a catalyst. He brings with him destruction, single-handedly tearing the foundations of their small town to pieces with two pairs of hands. His and his daughter’s. And that’s the real surprise, because Donghyuck has always been something of a harbinger of chaos. It was never of his own creation, though.

His daughter’s name is Bada.

“My wish is for her to settle by the sea when she’s lived a full life,” he explains easily, like there aren’t any questions or empty spaces between them all.

She has her father’s nose and eyes and ears, and Jaemin is left with qualities he tries to use to piece together her mother’s face. Twelve seconds in, he gives up—decides that he doesn’t need to know what her mother looked like. It’s easy enough to piece together that she was beautiful. Donghyuck never deserved anything less.

“She’ll be tall, don’t you think?” Jeno asks. And he’s settled into Donghyuck’s presence faster than any of them, content to have his best friend back into his life. Something implies that Donghyuck never left, and Jaemin can’t say anything as he never tried to tether Donghyuck to _his_ life. He fell in love, and stayed in love, and in that sort of way, he never left. “Bada Lee.”

Bada holds her head high and has the same sort of embrace around life’s body that Donghyuck had when they were growing up. None of them ask what brought them here, what the circumstances are. Those sorts of things will come with time, or not at all. Eventually they’ll spread. Rumors are something of a walking contradiction. She trips, and she scrapes her knee, and she’s so confident as she holds her hand out towards her father for a band aid, no tears in sight.

And Donghyuck is a gentle father, though firm, sitting her at the bench, a first-aid kit procured from his bag. It must be a dad thing, probably, though Jaemin concedes that it’s always been a _Donghyuck_ thing. Regardless of all the expectations and images they had created for themselves in the years growing up, Donghyuck was always the gentlest, his aspirations for trouble no exception. Just like the rumors that will swallow his presence whole, he is a contradiction.

Jaemin has never fallen out of love with Donghyuck Lee, and he thinks that it might be the best decision he’s ever made. Not that he actually made it. Jaemin falls in love, is in love, and never falls out. Within his heart is an endless, overflowing source of love that he isn’t sure he wants.

* * *

Renjun holds their world’s knowledge in his hands. He flips the pages of their book and writes what he must in the blank spaces. When Donghyuck returns, he fills in what he must.

Donghyuck is twenty-six, just like them, but has a child, and a—somewhat—stable career in which he’s found success. The sun still loves him more than any of them, and he remains a harbinger of chaos. For all the ways they have missed and wondered about him, it isn’t clear, however, that he has ever thought the same. Renjun files these observations away like they’re facts. Jaemin doesn’t doubt their legitimacy.

Fingers drumming against the kitchen table, Renjun stares out his kitchen window while Jaemin leans forward. Conversation has long ago died between the two of them, and the silence is even deeper when Jeno is with them. Words have lost their meaning. There’s no one else they’d rather lean on in this small town, though. Familiarity and boredom are synonymous, really.

They each occupy houses not far from where they were raised, and Jaemin wonders if they’re living in a fantasy: Owning a house, working a stable job with an easy commute. Renjun and Jeno are married, not to one another, as much as Jaemin was sure it would happen, and Jaemin flits between people with no end in sight. Yangyang is secretive, and content to remain that way. Jaemin would never pry.

“It’s weird,” Jaemin decides.

“What’s weird?”

It’s a question, but it _isn’t_ , since Renjun already knows what Jaemin means. There’s only one thing that could be weird in their town. The topic is never referred to through names. Ambiguity is its hallmark. But it is weird, and everyone in the town has accepted that fact. Rumors spread and theories bubble under the surface of a small town that grasps its regularity with a grip tight enough to choke.

“You know.”

“Right,” Renjun says, firmly. “It is. But isn’t everything? Isn’t every _one_?”

And, sure, everything is weird. Everyone is weird. That’s more of a fact than anything else, because normalcy isn’t really indicative of anything, and it’s such a subjective sort of thing that Jaemin doesn’t try to decide what it is. It simply exists however it must in the moment. Donghyuck’s return is weird, and his existence as a father is even weirder. Something about it must be normal, though in this small, suffocating town, it borders on obtrusive.

Through it all, Donghyuck holds his head high, because he is Donghyuck, the main character of his own story, independent of the one that Renjun records.

“Sure,” admits Jaemin. “You’re right.”

* * *

This is how Jaemin Na falls in love.

He is eighteen, and Donghyuck is hugged so tightly by the sun that Jaemin thinks he might be burnt if he strays too close. He does, anyways, with a delicate touch that Donghyuck reciprocates.

Their love is short lived, and burns so bright, so fast. They’re a fire starter when together.

Apart, there’s nothing left of them from the beginning. If they had waited, they would see the immense forest fire they had started.

Years later, it still ruins the world.

* * *

Things are easier to start and end than they are to maintain. In that sort of way, Jaemin and Yangyang were destined for failure.

He was something of a placeholder until he became permanent, filling the gaps that Donghyuck’s departure left behind. Yangyang was a new face, until he became an old face, and life began to move with him, rather than stumbling over him. Jaemin tries not to think about it too much. In reality, they used one another, and it’s a part of their lives they look at, blink at, and laugh at.

Yangyang’s stories are scrunched in-between theirs until he becomes a _part_ of their stories, and it’s Donghyuck’s words that they attempt to fold into theirs. Life is funny in that sort of way, and Jaemin finds comfort in Yangyang’s detached intrigue with Donghyuck. He looks at it from a way that they can’t, and Yangyang has always been good at making it easier to breathe.

“You’ve probably said, like, thirty words to him since he moved here, right?” Yangyang’s body is spread across his couch, and he peers at Jaemin over the arm of the couch. He blinks slowly, eyes curled into waning moons. Something about him is like a cat. There’s energy, but he uses it awful carefully, deliberation in every movement. “There’s no use in worrying things that he won’t openly worry about. And if you’re that concerned, then talk with him.”

There’s a maturity to Yangyang that they all lack, and Jaemin thinks that they would shatter and crumble into pieces if it weren’t for him. Things are always easier said than done, though, and he putters through his thoughts until Yangyang pulls him back to earth.

“Right. Just _talk_ ,” Jaemin says, like it’s easy. At face value, it is.

“Exactly,” croons Yangyang, closing his eyes. “ _Exactly_.”

* * *

There are days where it’s easy to decide that everything is falling into pieces. This is one of them.

It starts out innocently enough, and Jaemin doesn’t give much of a thought to the coffee that now stains the floor of his car, or the hem of his pants, or that pulls a flush to the top of his skin. He doesn’t think about the way that it deepens the brown of his penny loafers, erasing the weathering.

In reality, though, it’s one of many.

When things are so regular, and so without change, something about ignoring all that goes _wrong_ becomes easy. It’s how Jaemin’s life unravels faster than they can discern. He’s stumbling and falling faster than he can absorb. Before he knows it, he’s hit the ground. Hard.

It hurts more than he cares to admit. The moment his feet are back underneath him, he heads towards another cliff. Fall after fall, the most he can do is get up.

* * *

Jaemin is still in love in a pretty ugly sort of way.

It’s hard to tell what’s going through a person’s mind at any given time, regardless of how actively they express themselves. Jaemin thinks that, in that sort of way, he’s lacking. And it’s not in the way that people might think—to a degree, he likes to present himself simply when he can, though in the end, it just leads to misunderstandings and people looking for and reading into things that don’t exist.

Donghyuck has never done that, and Jaemin wonders if that’s why it’s so easy to love him.

There’s a proverbial hand held out for him at any given time, though the face it belongs to always changes. Today it’s Jeno, who laughs over a cup of coffee, eyes so wide open behind his glasses. The way they move with one another is so deeply ingrained at this point, Jaemin doesn’t blink as Jeno simply continues to exist in front of him. So many years together does that to people, he has discovered.

Jeno is the only one who might understand the way that Jaemin feels.

The gaps that remain between him and others have long since disappeared between him and Jeno. It’s a connection born more out of necessity than active choice, and Jaemin wonders if it would still exist in another life.

Those sort of thoughts are dangerous, though. This is the life he currently lives in and therefore it’s the one he should focus on. Dwelling on could-have’s or could-be’s is pointless when the life you’re living in the moment is what you have control over.

In a way, Jaemin is selfish. When things fall apart, when he is drifting towards the surface, there is only one line of sight for him. In that vision, he is the only one that exists or matters. Outside of these falls he knows that isn’t the case. If anything, there’s a deeper sort of concern for those around him as he sprints towards his next free-fall. For that reason, he surrounds himself with happiness.

It’s something that has enough to pull him from his thoughts.

Jaemin will forever be incomplete. They all will. It’s something that he grasps loosely in his hands.

Across from him, Jeno nods, as if he understands. Jaemin thinks he might.

* * *

Around here is where things start to make sense. It goes something like this:

Jaemin is _in_ love. Donghyuck doesn’t know that that is anymore. At least, not in the way that Jaemin wants him to. The world continues to spin, Bada continues to grow, and their lives continue on the paths they have started on. It takes time for the fields of view to widen, though when it does, a pleasant sight embraces them.

A year doesn’t change much, and neither does two, regardless of the expectation that evolution is a product of time. He supposes that they’re _acclimating_ , though, to an event that shook this small town harder than anyone cares to admit. Whispers have died enough that Donghyuck’s chin held high no longer turns heads, and Jaemin wonders how much he’s crumbled inside.

It’s not the kind of question you ask, though, and Jaemin never _does_. Donghyuck tells him, anyway.

The story isn’t long, and Donghyuck is straightforward. There are no corners cut, and the ambiguities are less unclear than they are foggy. The difference is nuanced, but it’s not Jaemin’s place to grab him by the shoulders and ask where he’s been. Bada is sort of an answer, regardless of the questions she adds.

“We make mistakes,” Donghyuck says, “and for a while, I had to use my time to come to the realization that Bada wasn’t a mistake, but a blessing. And I think it’s easier to think of things as mistakes in the moment, and it takes longer to come to realizations that they were blessings. That’s how life is, though, isn’t it?”

Through words, years can pass faster than seconds, and Jaemin finds them standing in the same place again when Donghyuck is finished talking. Their coffees have gone cold, though there’s a sort of warmness to Donghyuck’s existence now that wasn’t there before. Jaemin doesn’t try to drag it out of him the way he would Jeno, or Renjun, or Yangyang. They have been there for years and Jaemin has learned to converse with them as they have changed.

The Donghyuck before him is a blank slate in so many ways, Jaemin decides that the Donghyuck he has loved is gone.

There is a new person to love. Jaemin thinks he can do it.

* * *

Jaemin begins to fall in love again while doing the dishes. Probably.

He realizes it as the water is running and the others are laughing in the other room, Bada’s indignant cries overwhelming them, Donghyuck standing in the doorway. So many things can happen at once, Jaemin simply accepts them as they come. Washing dishes is something he’s come to do on his own. Donghyuck weaves his way into the process without a word.

It’s his nature, though, probably, fitting in without hesitation.

Between them, a plate shatters. Donghyuck stares at the pieces before shaking his head. “We’ll have to get a new one.”

“Right.”

Because replacing a plate is easy.

* * *

Bada turns nine and out of all the gifts Jaemin gives her, she loves a pair of tortoiseshell barrettes the most. Donghyuck tells him that they’ve become a prized possession.

“She even wants to wear them to bed,” Donghyuck says between laughs, reaching up to pat his own hair. “I’m not allowed to touch them… Mothers in town have been asking me if I’m letting Bada do her own hair, not like I have much of a choice. She’s quite stubborn and this isn’t really something I can really put my foot down about. It’s a pain to fight about these sorts of things in the morning.”

“I can’t imagine,” Jaemin says. And he truly can’t. It’s enough of a struggle to get himself out of bed, he can’t imagine what it’s like to try to guide oneself and a child through life. Bada is independent, though, and bright and smart, and Donghyuck is careful to toe the line between treating her like his daughter and treating her like a girl her age.

It’s not rebellion, Donghyuck explains, but the concept of preciousness has translated into a stubbornness that not even he can fight with. Memories drag deep sighs from Donghyuck, pull a laugh from Jaemin.

“You’ll see one day,” Donghyuck jabs a finger in Jaemin’s direction, expression severe until the front door opens.

“Dad!”

“Kitchen,” he calls back. His smile seems to be involuntary as Bada’s face appears in the doorway. Her eyes are so wide and bright, Jaemin thinks that her future must be the same. “How was school?”

“Can you help me with my English assignment?” The thud of her backpack on the kitchen chair is heavier than Jaemin remembers his being, and he wonders _why_ until she’s pulling an encyclopedia out of her backpack. Another question he won’t ask. “Also, can we go get my hair cut this weekend?”

Donghyuck reaches out, gentle, to tap on the barrettes that pull her hair back. “What about these?”

“I can wear them with short hair,” Bada sounds firm in her stance, and Donghyuck leans back.

“Hair is hair. It’ll grow back. Let me call to see if they can cut your hair this weekend.”

The slope of his shoulders is resigned, and Jaemin understands that all too well. Jeno’s nieces and nephews are stubborn, like Bada, but louder, and there are _more_ of them. Children are firm in their ways with an innocent sort of pride that Jaemin thinks these jaded adults have lost long ago. A foot taps against his leg before Bada is tugging at his sleeve, mouth open.

“You should come.”

“What?”

“To my hair cut.”

“And why is that?”

Bada smiles all wide before saying, simply, “Because I want you to.”

* * *

Realizing that someone is in love is something of a maze. Jaemin learns this at nineteen.

Jaemin learns this at twenty when Donghyuck is gone and Jeno tells him that he shouldn’t be _surprised_ that it hurts so much. He knew that it would hurt, but it _hurts_ , and Renjun is managing this loss through careful cataloguing of every single moment that has led to this event. But Jaemin can’t compartmentalize like that. There’s no even rationality to his thoughts and emotions.

While he’s an open book, there’s also no directionality to his thoughts. They come and they exist in non-linear fragments, dragging his mind two steps forwards, twenty-four back, seventy-nine forwards, ten backwards. The recurring thought, sort of like his mind’s start space, is that Donghyuck is gone.

He isn’t trying to figure out why, or how, or any of those things. Jaemin is simply trying to accept that Donghyuck is gone. It’s been months since they last contacted one another, and at one point, the number no longer belonged to him. An unfamiliar name with no face let them know that the Donghyuck Lee they had been looking for is no longer the owner of the phone number.

The most his mother had said was that he’s okay, he needs his space, there’s nothing to worry about.

And then they left, too. Or they’re _going_ to leave, even if the Jaemin at present doesn’t know that yet.

Rather than steps forwards and steps back, Jaemin’s mind traverses different paths that lead to dead ends. He retraces his steps, though it’s not to say that it’s going _backwards_ or _a loss_ , because discovering that a path leads to nothing is knowing _something_ , and therefore just another step towards the solution.

At nineteen, nothing really makes sense and there’s not really an exit. It’s just advancement to another level.

Jaemin slowly learns.

* * *

Things start to change without any of them realizing it. This is the first sign.

There are plenty of things that come after, though the first is the most important. Donghyuck, with eyes so bright, reaches for Jaemin’s hand under the table as Bada talks about her day. Sliced carrots slide off her plate and onto the placemat, soon joined by peas and small stalks of broccoli. Jaemin realizes, in this moment, that this place has become a second home. There isn’t much else to it.

Jaemin is in love again, though he’s known that for a while now. He’s known since Donghyuck’s second year back, It’s just different, now that things have changed. And things continue to change.

When Bada is twelve, one of the two barrettes breaks. It’s just a small crack in the resin, but it sends her flying to Jaemin’s study, pressing it into his palm and begging for him to find another. He tries to placate her as Donghyuck stands in the doorway, arms crossed and smile fond. Things have changed, and Jaemin has learned, since Donghyuck’s return, that changes never seem as large when you’re seeing them in the moment.

“I’ll take a look for some,” he places the cracking barrette on his desk, “this evening. We can look. After dinner.”

“Don’t do _that_ again.” There’s a sigh as Bada cheers, proudly parading herself out of the study and down the stairs. “You _spoil_ her.”

“You just don’t spoil her _enough_.”

And this is something of a last sign, because everything that comes after isn’t new. Jaemin still allows himself to enjoy it all, anyway.

* * *

Donghyuck comes back during the summer. He’s twenty-six and the sun still loves him.

Jaemin still loves him.

Love that travels through time isn’t something that’s stable, and loving someone who _was_ isn’t the same as loving someone who’s in front of you. The thing that people like to ignore about love is that as people change, so does your love. It’s simply a reality, and some people recognize it, and other people falter to it. Jaemin, who loves the person as he last remembers them, finds it in himself to love people as they once were and as they are now.

That is why he loved Donghyuck then and he thinks that he’ll still love him now.

The ice cream truck no longer drives through the neighborhood, long out of business. Instead Yangyang, a new variable, drives to the local market and brings back a variety, because this is where they are in life.

With Donghyuck, and the summer, also comes a child. Her name is Bada Lee and she brings with her an even brighter star. It envelops her and holds her close in the sky. There is a bright future for her that even Jaemin can see. He isn’t sure if he’s a part of that future, though the way that Donghyuck is eager to pull them close into his world makes him hope that he will be.

And in the future, Jaemin _is_.

In the future, Jaemin will move into Donghyuck’s four bedroom home and share a study with him. He will wake up in the morning and make breakfast for Bada, pack himself a lunch, and start the coffee for Donghyuck when he will eventually wake up.

This small town will still be listless and Jaemin will still be in love, and things will no longer be changes, but new additions. At this moment, though, Jaemin is twenty-six and the Donghyuck standing before him is brand new and he thinks to himself that he can fall in love all over again if it’s Donghyuck Lee.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading ~


End file.
